


The One Where Hiccup Gets Pegged

by tysonrunningfox



Series: Ripped [3]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Pegging, here it is, i wanted it to feel like there was mutual love and respect, it's my first time writing pegging, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24103435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tysonrunningfox/pseuds/tysonrunningfox
Summary: Sometimes, the diversity of people's sexual pasts come up while they move in together (in the midst of the latent stages of a murder investigation.  It's fine).
Relationships: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III/Astrid Hofferson
Series: Ripped [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570117
Comments: 5
Kudos: 53





	The One Where Hiccup Gets Pegged

Hiccup doesn’t judge Astrid for not wanting to go back to her apartment. She also didn’t judge him for not wanting to go back to her apartment. He figures that’s a good first step towards living together, mutual understanding of things that are necessary but also suck. 

The good news is that the Berk PD was a godsend, largely as an apology, and they boxed everything that wasn’t blood soaked enough to be evidence over in jumbled cardboard boxes. They even delivered it, and Snotlout bugged out for the evening to let them make sense of the mess. 

Hiccup never thought about a girlfriend moving in with him, it just never really seemed like a part of his life, but if he had, it wouldn’t have gone like this. 

“Why is it weird to touch your bras if they’re not on you?” Hiccup starts the conversation on the worst note possible, pulling a functional looking bra out of the nearest box. A cop touched it. That is a lot. 

“Because you’re making it weird.” Astrid starts stacking books out of another box, looking back at him over her shoulder with that irritated, fond expression that makes him want to be better. 

“Sorry, I—” He drops the bra, “I guess right now all I can think is that this seems uncomfortable and—”

“Do you not want me to move in?” She stands up slowly, but he sees the vulnerability in her eyes. He sees the desire to have someone reach out. To scale the wall that everyone has always tried to knock down. 

“No, I mean yes, I—I want you to move in more than anything, I just…I’m worried that you won’t like moving into a bachelor pad, or—I’ve never lived with someone who’s saved my life before? Let alone a woman.” He swallows hard and it sticks in his throat, “not that—I—”

“I’ve never moved in with anyone either,” she smiles, more gentle than he deserves as she sits on the edge of the bed. _Their_ bed, since hers is evidence. 

The bed he’s slept with her in once, that she clearly claimed. 

“It’s…” 

“Not how I expected.” She laughs, holding her arms out for the box of bras that cops touched, “I’ll unpack my own underwear. I want to wash it anyway, given that it was packed by random police who recently imprisoned you.” 

“I’m glad you said that,” he sets the box on the bed next to her and reaches for another, “I kept thinking about it too and it’s just—”

“Weird,” she fills in, tossing a handful of underwear into his hamper in the corner of the room and thinking about their laundry mixed together makes his heart throb. She’s going to live here, with him. She’s going to sleep next to him every night. He’s going to wake up and know exactly where she is, and it’s not the scene of any crime. “It’s all pretty weird.” 

“I don’t mind helping,” he assures her, going back to the box of books that she’d been unpacking and pulling a few more out of it, setting them on the lone bookcase they’d managed to shove into his bedroom. The rest can fit in the office, they’ll make room. “It’s an opportunity to get to know you even better.” He reads the bindings of a few of the books that he’s stacked, murder mysteries in older editions, and blindly reaches back into the box to pull out a smaller box. “What’s this?”

“Wait,” Astrid half stands, eyes wide, but the lid is already half off and Hiccup has never been one to stop himself from looking. 

“Oh,” he pauses, because it’s silicone, molded into a recognizable, if simplified, shape. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop, that’s—it’s fine, none of my business, unless you want it to be—I—” He looks back in the box and pauses, “is that a harness?” 

“It was a gag gift,” she stands up, cheeks bright red even as she refuses to avoid his eyeline, daring him to dig himself deeper like she thinks the answer to that proposition would ever be no. “From Ruff, of course.” 

“So, you don’t…” He trails off, willing himself to shut the box and set it aside. Willing, because it doesn’t quite work. Because curiosity killed the cat, but he’s only spent a couple of his lives so far, and what’s the fun in living when the edge doesn’t really matter? 

“After all the murder, it’s the strap-on that freaks you out?” She takes the box, closing it resolutely and setting it aside on the cluttered bedside table. “Gag gift, I’d honestly forgotten about it. I’m shocked it didn’t get tagged as evidence, to be honest.” 

“Oh, um,” he rubs the back of his neck, “I’m not freaked out.” 

She nods, looking at him with forced fading embarrassment as she loads another armful of clothes into the hamper. That empties the box and she tugs at the tape on the bottom, trying to fold it flat. 

“Here,” he hands her his pocketknife and her fingers glance warm across his. 

“Thanks,” she looks right at him, curiosity growing in intensity, and it’s a game of chicken between two people who have never left a single sleeping dog alone. “One down, about…twenty to go?” She gestures at the boxes stacked around the room. “Don’t worry, I don’t think there are any surprises in the rest of them.” 

“I’m not worried,” he glances at the box on the bedside table, and her eagle eyes miss nothing, nostrils flaring like they do when he’s too cryptic for her taste. 

“I guess if I were going to scare you off, it would have happened by now.” 

“I keep telling myself the same thing.” 

Another nostril flare. She looks at the box on the table and then crosses her arms, hips cocked like she’s irritated that he’s forcing her to interrogate him instead of getting to the point. He loves that face. 

“So you—I mean, is that—do you,” she exhales sharply, one arm falling slack at her side, “were you um, _happy_ to find a strap-on in my things?”

It’s the most awkward he’s ever seen her, and he takes the step forward to put his hands on her shoulders, kissing her forehead and smiling to himself when she frowns under his lips. 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” she hooks a finger through his beltloop, keeping him close as she looks up sternly at him, cheeks still stained red. 

“It was just…very on-brand is all.” He admits, rubbing her upper arms. 

“You still aren’t answering the question.” She reaches up to tap his chin, thumb lingering under his lower lip. “I thought we were getting to know each other better.” 

“Using my own words against me,” he softens slightly, sliding his hands down her back and holding his wrist behind her back. “You seem embarrassed, I’m trying not to interrogate you.” 

“I’m not.” 

“You’re glowing in the dark,” he kisses her red cheek and she glares at him. 

“I was embarrassed, until you started acting all cryptic and like you know things I don’t.” She pokes his chest, just hard enough to be half serious, and he grins. 

“That’s a pattern with us, isn’t it?” He says, “you’re irritated with me until I claim to have information that I’m not sharing with you, and then you have to show me who’s boss.” 

He knows how it sounds. She has to know how it sounds. He doesn’t understand how she never gets easier to flirt with and so he falls back on honesty, doing his best to ignore his pulse throbbing in his ears. 

“So, you’ve…” she trails off, interested and shy like he’s never seen. Like he wouldn’t have thought was possible, honestly. 

“And you haven’t.” He confirms and she blushes deeper, a shallow shrug bouncing her arm as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “Given that you had the equipment, that kind of makes me think you aren’t interested. Which is fine—” 

“I wasn’t interested in Grimborn either until you…caught me unaware.” She glances at the bedside table and bites her lip, and it’s his turn to blush. 

“Ah.” 

“You keep doing that.” 

“Doing what, exactly?” 

“Piquing my interest.” 

If Hiccup didn’t know her better, he’d say that she dropped it. But he does know her better, and in a way he feels kind of privileged to be on this side of the kind of research session that must have happened those first few weeks when she started yelling Grimborn facts out of windows. Of course, this time, he happens to be the primary source that she has best access to, and that means he also gets to see her try and largely fail to be nonchalant. 

It’s adorable. 

And intimidating, but not in an unwelcome way, all outcomes considered.

00000

“So,” she sidles up to him one night after dinner when he’s elbow deep in the dishes, bumping her hip against his and grabbing a dish towel to start drying, “was the strap-on your girlfriend’s idea?” 

His eyes widen and he checks over his shoulder for Snotlout, who is predictably immersed in a football game, diligently ignoring them so that they won’t ask for help. When he catches Astrid’s eye she’s blushing, but her jaw is firm and it makes his stomach twist slightly. 

“Um, no.” 

“So, it was your idea?” She leans her hip on the counter and puts the plate away, hand held out expectant for the next one, like she’s rushing him. 

“Since I’ve never had a quote on quote ‘girlfriend’ other than you,” he drips soapy water on his bare foot when he does air-quotes and quickly gets his hands back over the sink, “I guess you could say that.” 

“You guess?” She raises an eyebrow and he laughs. 

“I thought we weren’t interrogating.” 

“You said you weren’t interrogating me,” she dries another dish, “I didn’t say anything” 

“I can’t finish the dishes if you cuff me,” he reminds her, not sure if he’s fanning a flame or trying to put it out. 

Obviously, the best part of being with Astrid is the fact that he gets to be with Astrid. That he gets her attention and her time and love. But the rest of it is…great too. And he’s being truthful, he’s never had a girlfriend before, not in the sense where he no longer has enough fingers and toes to count their dates, which is saying something even more coming from him. He’s never had enough time with someone else to get to know them this way, their quirks, their ticklish spots, their tendencies. 

He thinks of the box on the bookcase next to her books and her impatient smirk lights his cheeks on fire even as he doubles down on the dishes. 

“I’m just curious,” she continues drying, “what…prompted you?” 

“Did you know that Snotlout has no boundaries?” He says a little louder than the rest of their conversation. 

“What?” He instantly calls back, peering nosily over the bar into the kitchen, “I heard my name.” 

“Oh, nothing,” Hiccup unplugs the sink as he scrubs the last dish, “I just said you have no boundaries.” 

“Fair,” he snorts, “about what? What don’t I have boundaries about?” 

“Thanks for helping me prove my point.” 

“I’ve got to go work on my paper,” Astrid announces then, smacking his ass with the dishtowel almost hard enough for it to sting through his jeans before heading back to their bedroom. 

He swallows hard and leans against the counter for a second in an attempt to stop the mass southward migration of his blood. A failed attempt. 

“What was that all about?” Snotlout asks when the door is closed, Astrid’s study playlist vaguely discernible through the door. 

“Nothing.” 

“No, what point did I help you prove?” He rolls his eyes as Hiccup turns around, “you have to tell me so I can make sure I agree, she’s my bro too and I’m not letting you pick sides for me.” 

“That you have no boundaries. Like that’s literally the point,” Hiccup nods, “I have to go…read.” 

“Ugh, stop, I know that’s geeky code for you going to bone Astrid.” 

Hiccup snorts, “it’s really not. Goodnight, though.” 

“Fine, I’ll just be out here, watching the Pats _win_.” 

Astrid swears predictably at him from the bedroom and Hiccup takes the opportunity to skirt carefully around the counter and slip through the door before he has to explain his quick exit. Snotlout has no boundaries, sure, and maybe Hiccup didn’t have boundaries until recently, but he’s in no mood to explain the rationale behind the tent in his pants to his nosy cousin. 

“Everything ok?” Astrid asks, smirking beneath an innocent voice as she types, and he shrugs. 

“Snotlout being…himself, you know.” He grabs a random one of Astrid’s books from the shelf and flops back onto the bed. 

“I hear the Pats are winning.” 

“As always, apparently.” He scoots up against the pillows, watching Astrid’s shoulders tense from over the top of the book he doesn’t intend to read.

“Oversharing again?” She asks, setting her laptop on the bookcase and sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“Don’t you have a paper?” He crosses his legs and she smiles, laying down next to him on her side, chin on her palm. 

“On expression of male sexuality and how it relates to…crime.” Her lie fizzles out halfway through when her eyes flick to his crotch, and she smiles. “So, when you said that Snotlout doesn’t have boundaries, how does that relate to your sexual past?” She doesn’t interrogate, she interviews, and that’s worse and better and he carefully shuts her book and sets it aside before she can say anything. 

“I’m going to tell you a secret about me,” he teases, heart thudding when she scoots closer, heel hooking over his calf as her shirt slides up her waist. He leans in to kiss her and she stops him with a finger on his lips. “What?” 

“I can’t source you under duress, you know.” 

“Trust me, no duress,” he mutters against her finger, hand finding her hip and pulling her towards him. 

“What’s the secret?” she asks, lowering her hand and looking at him expectantly. 

“Oh, that’s easy,” he tucks her hair behind her ear, “when someone tells me about a mystery in a long, dark, alley, I explore it.” 

“Gross,” she smacks his shoulder with the back of her hand, half-hearted but laughing. 

“No,” he runs his hand down her arm, taking her hand and setting it on his side, warm and comforting through his shirt. “I mean it. I’m not really one to leave stones unturned.” 

“Ah,” she kisses him, teeth just barely glancing across his lip as she reaches for the button of his jeans, “me neither.” 

She knows him too. She knows to drag her knuckles across his hip and press herself against him when she pops his pants button open. She knows to give him space to take his foot off, to kiss his shoulder when he gets his shirt off. She knows to tangle her fingers in his hair and kiss his throat while her bare leg slides over his hip. 

“Just to be clear,” she kisses under his ear, “you’re good with…”.

“If you can’t say it, it feels like you’re not comfortable doing it. And you don’t have to—”

“I meant that you’re good with the _strap_ I just so happen to have.” She nibbles his ear, hands shaking slightly as they slide down his front. 

“Oh, fuck.” 

“I’ve never done this before,” she wraps her hand around him and pumps, slow, twisting, gripping just tight enough. And before he tells her that yes, she has, and that yes, he still likes it, a lot, her fingertip presses behind his balls. Purposeful, researched. He twitches, heel bouncing off the mattress and she kisses his collarbone. “Is that right?” 

He makes some sort of sound when she presses again, kissing down his stomach. 

“That’s…yeah.” He twitches when she kisses the tip of him, another finger introducing itself behind the pressure, slick with lube he didn’t see. Like she planned this, so she had it ready, and he doesn’t think he can get annoyed at her organization ever again. “Oh God…”.

“No stone unturned,” she repeats with a smile before taking him into her mouth. 

And he loves her. 

And she’s magic, always. 

And she’s gentle, her finger stroking again and again, settling with a persistent weight that’s never pushy. Hesitant but not skittish and he nods, moaning something to the affirmative as her tongue swirls and pushes against him just right. 

He spreads his legs and her finger sinks in, just slightly, just enough. 

“Ok?” She starts to move, careful, theoretically practiced, and he grabs her arms, kissing the back of her ear. 

“Yeah it’s—I should have showered—”

“You showered earlier,” she kisses the tip of him, tongue flicking against it and he shudders as her finger works deeper. Another joins it, gentle as she rests her chin on his hip, eyes squinted like she’s focused on getting her bearings. 

He’s always liked how much effort she puts into figuring him out and this is no exception. In fact, it might even be the rule. 

He arches his back when she presses in a little harder, the burn not entirely unwelcome as she drags her tongue up the underside of his dick to soothe it. The combination of sensations is new and almost too much and he swears, hand fisting in the blankets when her warm mouth engulfs him again, hair tickling his thighs. 

“I think I like this,” she kisses his hip and smiles up at him, pupils blown, and watching her wrist move between his legs makes his stomach twist, the pressure in his groin building towards an almost painful urgency. 

“You think?” He’s shocked by the edge in his voice, not quite a whine, and just like everything else in life, this is better with Astrid. Better because she’s better. 

“I feel like I can really,” her eyes light up when she nudges that bright spot inside of him and he bites his lip, head pressed hard into the pillow, “really make you feel it.” 

“You make me feel plenty.” He doesn’t know why he’s arguing. Maybe it’s because he’s so overwhelmed and tingling that all that’s left of him is basest instinct. 

“It’s different.” She curls her fingers and sucks on him again and he can’t help but think of what it’s like to have her fall apart around him. 

“You’re right,” he admits, remembering enough of his hand to find the back of her head and tug at her hair. “Astrid.” She swallows around him and static starts spreading from his toes, “reaching the point of no return, here.” 

She pulls off and takes a deep breath, “that’s ok, we can go again.” 

He shudders, shaking his head and wrapping a bracing, tight grip around the base of his dick, trying to stave off the fire in his veins. 

“I don’t think I’d survive that.” 

“Really?” She grins, more than a little smug, thrilled flush spreading down her bare chest, and he squeezes harder, closing his eyes and exhaling a deep breath. It almost helps when she pulls her fingers out a little too quickly, the sting returning some cohesion to his thought process when he winces. “Sorry—”

“A little slower on that,” he instructs, moaning under his breath when her chest is against his and she’s dropping fluttery kisses across his cheek. “Are you going to get that strap-on on—that sounds wrong, is—I can’t think straight.” 

She laughs under her breath and kisses him, dragging her fingernails through his stubble like she knows he likes and he doesn’t recognize the near growl that rumbles in his chest. 

“Unless you don’t want to anymore, in which case, you should come here,” he grabs her leg and drags it over his waist, urging her hips above his. 

“Oh, I want to,” she kisses his forehead, stifling another laugh. 

“What’s funny?” He lets his hand dip between her legs, biting his lip at how wet she is, barely resisting the urge to guide her down onto him. 

“I don’t actually know how to put it on.” 

He snorts, some of the tension cracking just enough for him to catch his breath, “that is funny.” 

“It looks really complicated,” she admits, sitting torturously back on his thighs, palms planted on his stomach as she wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, “there are so many straps.” 

“In all of your meticulous research and…lube hiding,” he laughs, “you never thought to try it on?” 

“You liked my research,” she blushes anyway, climbing off of him when his grin turns teasing. 

“That seems like a bit of crucial information to completely ignore.” 

“Shut up,” she glares over her shoulder at him as she pulls the box off of the bookshelf, and he leans onto his elbow to watch. 

He sees her naked multiple times a day now, often when she’s changing or getting ready, and it’s always impossible to look away, but now when they’re in the middle, when his skin is still on fire and she’s planning on touching him more, he’s transfixed by the long, soft lines of her. She turns around, still half-glaring around a tinge of adorable embarrassment as she takes the harness out of the box and holds it in front of herself. 

“Do you want help?” 

“I just don’t know where to put my legs through.” She’s pouting like she does whenever she realizes she doesn’t have everything figured out and he stifles a grin, sitting up on slightly rubbery legs and wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer. Her chest is conveniently face height and he nuzzles her breast, sucking her nipple into his mouth. Her moan is on the edge of frustrated as she runs her hand through his hair, tugging him off and looking at him seriously. 

“Weren’t you in a hurry?” 

“Then you made me laugh.” He kisses her chest, hand sliding up her inner thigh before rubbing between her legs. The evidence that she’s been enjoying this too makes his heart thud and he groans against her skin, “what do you need help with again?” 

“Help me put this on,” she puts the harness in his hand and takes a step back that feels like a mile, “and then turn over, ok?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, half-joking as he fumbles with the harness, directing her legs through the right holes and helping tighten it around her hips. She pokes him instantly, fumbling with how to move her hips. 

“Turn over,” she kisses him, bending to pull the lube she must have used earlier from between the mattress and box spring, slicking it liberally across the silicone with a familiar hand motion that makes it hard to breathe. 

“Over? Alright, yeah,” he rolls to his hands and knees, shuddering involuntarily when the bed dips behind him and Astrid’s warm hand lands on his hip. Then her lubed fingers are on him, slick and careful, if not quite hesitant. Her knee nudges between his, spreading his legs wider and he swears, squinting his eyes closed and trembling as she lines herself up. 

She slides in, slow, controlled, the burn overwhelmed by the surprisingly pleasant full feeling as she grips his hip with one hand, lubed fingers reaching around to stroke his dick. 

“Ok?” She rubs his hip, adjusting her position slightly and grabbing a handful of his ass. And she knows him, and this isn’t a power thing, it’s exactly what she said earlier, like she’s reaching inside and forcing him to feel on her terms. And he loves her, and she’d never want him to feel anything but good. 

She starts to move, and he takes that back immediately. She’d never want him to feel anything but _great_. 

It takes a minute to find her rhythm, but it’s Astrid, and she’s great at everything and she nudges the electric spot inside him with such careful purpose that he twitches, back arching, thrusting instinctively into her grip. 

He takes everything back. She doesn’t want him to feel anything but _excellent_. 

“I get it,” she huffs, letting go of his dick to grab both hips and thrust in a little harder. Confident. Because she’s _Astrid_ and she’s good at everything and fuck, he loves that about her. “I get it now. I never mind when you get me off after, but I want you to come like this.” She reaches around again, rhythm faltering slightly when she strokes his dick, but the payoff is worth it as his arms start shaking and he lowers to his elbows, forehead on his fisted hands. 

“You’re on the right track,” he gets out, the new angle introducing bright, perfect little pulses as she grinds into him. 

“Yeah?” Her voice smiles, like she’s really enjoying this, and his world starts to contract to a bright pinpoint. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, “Astrid.” And it’s almost enough, and he’s chasing it, her fond fingers stroking his hip even as she thrusts into him. “Harder?” 

“God,” she _moans_ from making him feel this way, knees spreading slightly against his as her grip turns practical and she pulls him back against her, the hand on his dick twisting and tugging and it’s enough. 

And his knees quake and Astrid strokes him through it, hand firm on his hip, chest soft against his back when she lays forward over him, kissing the back of his shoulder and making comforting sounds, her hair sticking slightly to his sweaty back. 

“I should have put down a towel,” she muses, fingers tickling his stomach as her weight slumps against him and he laughs, not trusting himself to move. 

“So two missteps in your grand plan,” he teases and she smacks his hip with the back of her hand, nuzzling his shoulder. “Wait no, three.” 

“Three?” She lifts her head and he can hear the irritation in her worry. 

“Should have worn the hat.” 

“Next time.” 

“Fuck,” he groans into his hand, another twinge of almost too much shooting down his spine. 

“Slow, right?” She double checks, kissing his back when he nods and braces himself for her to pull out. 

She’s careful, as promised, and he flops sideways away from the mess, refusing to think about laundry while every nerve ending in his body is thrumming. She takes the harness off and lays back down behind him, arm over his waist. 

“Come here,” he rolls onto his back, “I’m spent but you…just come here.” He pats his shoulder and she leans up onto her hand, eyes glassy but understanding. 

“I’m already here.” 

“Just come sit on my face,” he relaxes into the pillow when she clenches her thighs together, “please.” 

“Ma’am?” she grins, “please? I could get used to this.” She jokes, careful as she swings her leg over his head, biting her lip when he grabs her ass to pull her closer. 

“Me too,” he kisses her thigh, “you did all the work.” 

“It was a lot of work, honestly.” Her fingers thread in his hair, still demanding, still on brand, and his spent dick manages to twitch. 

It doesn’t take long. 

She obviously enjoyed it as much as he hoped and within a couple minutes, her knees are shaking and the moans leaking through bitten lips are rising in pitch. She squeaks his name when she gets there, thighs around his ears, shaking hands against his forehead. 

“So,” she lays down next to him, pressing her forehead into his shoulder, “that was…”

“Pretty great,” he confirms, kissing the top of her head and missing free use of the rest of the mattress, “the question now is, who’s going to do the laundry?” 


End file.
